


Coming Home

by Winoniel



Category: The Administration - Manna Francis
Genre: Light BDSM, M/M, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-20
Updated: 2012-12-20
Packaged: 2017-11-21 19:28:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/601273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winoniel/pseuds/Winoniel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes one goes away to (im)prove themselves, to find themselves, to find someone else.  Sometimes one goes away just to be able to come back.  Regardless, there is a simple joy to coming home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coming Home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Roxie Ann (pluvial_poetry)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pluvial_poetry/gifts).



> A play on the words of the title of "Coming From America" from Book Four, _Control,_ of the Administration Series.

Coming Home 

Toreth choked as another wave of black smoke poured into his mouth and lungs. Snatching up what appeared to be a tablecloth, he drenched it in the pool of water from the melting ice sculpture. Wrapping it around his head and shoulders he headed in the direction of the door.

 _Where was Warrick?_ The question rumbled desperately around his head. Warrick had been in the ballroom next door earlier that evening. It was the first night of a momentous meeting of corporates negotiating the establishment an international trade coalition. There were delegates from the Pan Pacifica Trading League, the National Business Association (the governing body of North American corporations), and the Confederation of European Corporations. In each case, the delegates were drawn from a diverse pool representative of each group’s large, medium-sized, and small corporations. The air was rarified among such internationally influential people, and Toreth, as Warrick’s ‘regular fuck’—they still had not come up with a mutually satisfying term for their relationship—had come along for the corporate perks.

It was being held in United America, a place that Toreth had never imagined ever visiting. After the narrowly averted diplomatic debacle involving the visiting son of an American diplomat, Toreth had decided that the European perception of Americans—that they were all intolerant, selfish, rabid religious fundamentalists—were true enough. What he hadn’t known was that while the majority of United America—and thus its government—tended towards cultural conservatism and xenophobia, there were cities that were autonomous governmental districts: New York, Los Angeles, San Francisco, Las Vegas, New Orleans, Miami, Washington. 

While in the two-party political system of United America the conservatives almost always held sway in elections, in the federated districts the liberals determined their own laws, many of which directly contravened those of the areas around them. These districts were lively, vibrant pockets of open-mindedness, artistic creativity, and scientific innovation. Not coincidentally, the headquarters of many of the most important American companies were located in or near the federated districts. The talks were being held in the largest of those districts, New York. 

Dodging small fires nipping at his heels, Toreth thought back to his decision to ditch what he knew would be long boring discussions of productivity or equally boring jockeying for status among the wealthy corporate elites. Believing that one of the waitresses in the hotel bar had been giving him signals of interest, Toreth had abruptly stood, whispering, “I’m getting out of here. Have fun.” And he left Warrick to his corporate friends.

A seat cushion burst into flames nearby, and Toreth froze, though his thoughts were spinning madly. Why was everything in the room so quick to catch fire? Didn’t hotels in America have to use fire proofing on their textiles as a part of safety protocols? If so, then there was something extremely suspicious about this fire. He moved again, almost skidding. It might have something to do with the sticky substance on the floor.

Outside the door, he could hear people moving rapidly down the corridor, the sounds of their exit almost drowned by the screeching warning signals. A lamp, its shade burning brightly, fell over, startling Toreth into movement again. He’d only moved two steps when he almost tripped over a solid mass huddled near the base of the lamp. Eyes streaming painfully, every breath a hot, dusty stab in his throat, he bent over to look more closely, though he somehow guessed what he’d find even before he inspected it. His obstacle was immediately revealed to be the body of a woman he’d met only three days before, Grace Tarrant.  
~*~*~*~ 

Warrick was concealing it well, but he was growing more frantic with each passing moment. The surge of relief was almost a warm wave over his spine when he saw Toreth emerge from the building, carrying what appeared to be a body. Emergency medical workers had instantly surrounded the stumbling man, but he appeared to be relatively unharmed. Warrick pushed through the crowd of evacuees and onlookers, his eyes catching weary, blood-shot blue ones. 

Upon reaching Toreth, whose soot-covered face split in a grin, Warrick asked, “What happened? Who was that you brought out?” He steeled himself for the answer, thinking of the comely young waitress he’d seen earlier in the evening.

“I was in the serving area of one of the small private-party rooms down the hall from the opening reception. I heard voices in the room, among them Monroe Douglass and Tarrant, the leggy blonde who is a part of his security team. I was a little busy at the time, so I didn’t pay them much attention.”

 _A little busy at the time—I’ll bet._ Warrick thought sardonically. He’d been rather bemusedly happy to see that while Toreth was probably going to take advantage of all of the goodies on offer during their trip, he was at least trying to be discreet with his sexual escapades. Angering one of the delegates or their spouses was a sure-fire way to cause a great deal of tension during their trip, and apparently Toreth knew it. Warrick had made a point of sharing, in a no-nonsense manner, that Americans were not customarily protected against pregnancy or the sexual transmission of some rather nasty diseases. He had no intention of his partner dying because he couldn’t control his sexual urges.

Toreth took the cloth that one of the EMWs handed him, and wiped his face, grimacing at the condition of the cloth when he finished. “I need a really long shower and some detoxing. My throat feels like it’s filled with gravel.” He coughed, his tearing eyes hinting at the pain that was confirmed by a gasp and then a slow, careful swallow.

“Anyway, the waitress…Sharon? Susan? Well, she had left, and I was straightening myself up. The explosion was in the room right next to mine. Unfortunately, it was between my room and the exit, so I had to go through it to get out. It was pretty much torched, but I came across Tarrant’s body. I took a quick look around to see if there was anyone else, but she had been alone.”

Toreth’s eyes narrowed, and Warrick could tell he was searching for something. 

“The thing is, even though she was unconscious, as far as I could tell, she was otherwise unharmed. But I could smell blood all around and thought I could see something shining in the flames, it was just hard to make out. Anyway, I grabbed her and here I am.”

Warrick briefly closed his eyes. “And I am exceedingly happy that you are. I was… anxious about your whereabouts.” 

He was gratified at the appreciative gleam in Toreth’s eyes, but was still taken by surprise by the dusty arm pulling him close. Warrick welcomed the parched lips that crushed bruisingly against his, sparking a flare of desire made even sharper after the panic of the previous few minutes. Unheeding of their surroundings, he threaded his fingers through Toreth’s short blond hair, holding him securely, demandingly in place. It seemed, however, that while Warrick assaulted Toreth’s mouth, the air around them vibrated slightly. He pulled away, a bit light-headed, and was about to make another comment. Just then, with only the smallest puff of sound, the section of the hotel in which the reception had been held simply imploded in on itself.  
~*~*~*~  
Toreth stood at the window, staring down at the green expanse of Toklas Park, and swearing a blue streak. It seemed that Monroe Douglass was missing. As apparently the last conscious person who’d seen—or rather, heard—the man alive, Toreth had been interviewed by the New York police, who were apparently the UA version of Justice, the remaining members of Douglass’s corporate security team, and agents of UA Homeland Security. 

After all that, there were now apparently members of the news media who wanted to talk with him as well. He had no intention of meeting with any of them. Having caught a glimpse of the sensational headlines of most of the news sites, he knew what he would have to say would be totally irrelevant to what they would publish.

Turning to Warrick with a question on his lips, Toreth stopped momentarily. Warrick was sitting in bed, nude under the sheet drawn carelessly over his hips. He had been cycling through several of the broadcasts on his handscreen, partly amused and partly horrified. Mouth a little dry at the sight of that expanse of perfect skin, Toreth asked, “What’s happening with the talks?”

Warrick shut down the transmission with a decided snap. “The CEC and PPTL want to continue talks as scheduled. They both have strict non-negotiation protocols that apply to this situation. The NBA, quite understandably, is less sanguine, as they were the hosts and feel this reflects poorly on them. They would rather hold off on the talks until after the resolution of Douglass’s kidnapping.”

“And what does ‘resolution’ mean to them?” Toreth asked, curious. 

“Well, as you know, they have clandestinely called in their Justice department. There has yet to be a ransom demand, but usually, the first thing demanded is that there be no police involved.”

That sounded monumentally stupid to Toreth. “So why would they do it? If you’re going to entertain ransom demands, why would you immediately defy them?”

“Because, apparently, corporations here wield less direct application of their power. They do not have independent security details, agreements of non-negotiation, or the intense corporate sabotage activities that are a part of corporate life elsewhere in the world.” Warrick said, almost wistfully. “Therefore, they tend to depend more on their police to help bring the perpetrators to justice."

“So aren’t their family members under constant fear of being kidnapped?”

Warrick shrugged, then stood to join Toreth at the window. “Corporates here of any significance take on the responsibility themselves to hire bodyguards for family members, and sometimes they’ll hire two or three, depending on the holdings and relative significance of the company. More of the effort is given to prevention of individual events against specific targets than to the creation of a system that would discourage the threat as a whole.”

Toreth whistled. “So, is this more of that ‘rugged individualism’ that your researchers told us to be aware of?” 

He felt arms snake around his midriff and leaned back as impossibly soft lips nipped their way up his neck. His cock stirred, and all of sudden, he had a great idea. In one swift series of movements, he grabbed each of Warrick’s hands in his, pulled them up over his head while twisting to face Warrick, then pirouetted them so that Warrick’s back was against the plate glass window, his hands over his head, held tightly in one of Toreth’s, and their groins slammed against each other.

A shiver teased its way up Toreth’s spine at the raw desire he could see in those deep dark eyes before they closed. This was perfect. While he would never give up the excitement of the chase of his pick-up fucks, nothing compared to the utter rightness of the game with Warrick. He ground his hips more firmly, his erection thrust against a corresponding hardness. 

Toreth wanted to fuck Warrick right there, against the window, for all of New York to see. However, the lube was across the room, and he also didn’t want to let go of Warrick’s hands, didn’t want to leave the warmth of all of that delightful, flawless skin, didn’t want to abandon the smell of warm, slightly tangy body, the sounds of jerky, irregular panting, the feel of satiny flesh and hard cock and silky hair tickling his fact.

Brushing his lips against Warrick’s neck, holding his hands tighter, Toreth decided to play a bit. He asked, “So, how has the ‘American way’ fucked with your negotiations so far?”

“W-wha….?” Warrick’s eyes fluttered open then closed again immediately, as he lost the battle to concentrate.

“I asked you a question,” Toreth said, in his ‘game’ voice. He used a finger to turn Warrick’s face up, letting the pale March sunshine catch the lines of his cheekbones, the sharp planes of his forehead and chin, and the fullness of his lips. He could watch something like this forever. However—

Two quick slaps, pulled a bit so that they wouldn’t leave marks, and Toreth said, voice even harder, “Think!”

Warrick’s head flew up. “What?” His voice was dazed, and his cock was ramrod stiff against Toreth’s hip.

“I asked you a question,” Toreth said harshly. He pulled his groin back from contact, delighting in the small gasp of dismay. “What differences have sprung up between the American and European delegates?”

Warrick’s head moved slightly from side to side as he seemed to shake something from it. He started haltingly, but his voice great more steady as he continued. “Well, when… the ah… the A-american delegates learned that Alex Wyatt’s company, PharmCreate, had the Administration contract to monitor prophylactic implants, they were appalled that there was mandatory birth control provisions in Europe. Apparently, such Administration mainstays as reproductive permits, relationship, movement, and child registration are direct challenges to their traditions of personal freedoms.”

“What effect has that had on talks?” Toreth asked curiously. His hand trailed lightly up Warrick’s thigh, evoking another gasp.

Warrick’s smile was strained. “Actually, none, really. While our social differences have made for rather interesting discussions, in terms of what our associations have to offer each other, we were growing more and more positive about the idea of cooperation.” 

He squirmed, his hips seemingly seeking Toreth’s. “However, the loss of momentum caused by Douglass’s kidnapping may not derail the proceedings, but it will certainly slow things down, whether we wait for him to return or not.” 

Toreth didn’t really care about the talks; he was simply delaying as a part of the game. He lightly circled his erection against Warrick’s, appreciating the reaction. Could he?

“God, look at you, how much you want it. I’ve hardly touched you and your’re hard as a rock,” Toreth murmured. 

Keeping a tight grip on the wrists in one hand, he seized a healthy handful of Warrick’s hair, twisting it so that Warrick’s neck was turned unnaturally and his face was pressed into the glass. Toreth brought the wrists down so that he could hold both the snatch of hair and the wrists in one hand. He smiled at Warrick’s arched back and labored breathing, the muscles quivering from the effort of maintaining his strained posture.

With his other hand, he traced Warrick’s chin, neck, and the spasming pectorals while whispering descriptions of what was to come. After taking time to enjoy the feel of soft, silken skin, Toreth rolled a nipple gently, then the other. After a few minutes of Warrick’s sighs, quiet moans, and rather satisfying writhing, Toreth grinned. He took a firm grip on one nipple and both pulled and twisted it viciously. At the same time he ground himself roughly into Warrick’s groin, rubbing emphatically.

“You want this, don’t you?”

“No!” Warrick’s knees buckled, and he would have fallen were it not held up by Toreth’s hips against his. 

Toreth almost came from that delicious knowledge alone, knowing how he could affect Warrick, how only he could bring Warrick to this point. He pitched his voice low and dangerous. “Admit it, you want my cock in you. But you have to tell me what you want. Say it.”

“No!” Warrick continued to writhe against the sensations, shaking his head from side to side for a few more seconds. Suddenly, he stopped moving, and whispered, “Yes.” 

Toreth was exultant. _This_ was what made Warrick so delectable, what made each time so comfortable yet novel. His submission was sweet because Toreth knew each need, each reaction, but the feelings they evoked in him, while familiar, were always perfect. His tongue dipped into the shell-like ear before him, then he asked, “Yes, what?”

“Yes, I want you to fuck me. Here, against the window,” Warrick groaned. 

Toreth brought his hand up to Warrick’s lips, and demanded, “Lick them.”

Warrick began struggling again, “No, we need lube, we need—” Toreth backhanded him, but remembering the delegation, again pulled the punch.

“Do it,” he said, menacing, holding his hand against Warrick’s lush, shuddering lips. Warrick’s tongue, slick and hot against his fingers almost ripped a yelp from Toreth’s throat. The thick globs of wetness made his cock even harder.

He wasted little time preparing Warrick, opening and stretching him, sliding his cock home. Spit was a poor substitute for lubrication, and Warrick wailed and froze. Toreth waited, almost quaking from the effort. He wanted nothing more than to thrust, deep and fast and hard, into the hot tightness around him.

It was only a moment before he was satisfying that desire, the force of his thrusting keeping Warrick plastered to the window. While his hands continued to twist Warrick’s tortured nipples, Toreth’s lips sought out the lush, spicy lips uttering imprecations, begging, and pleading.

“Please,” Warrick whimpered, meeting Toreth’s driving lunges savagely. Toreth could hear the groans and whines echoing in Warrick’s throat and chest, growing louder and louder until he came with a sobbing scream. 

_This_ was the magic that Toreth wove for Warrick, that no one else could. No one else knew exactly what Warrick needed and how to give it to him. It made Toreth almost delirious, giddy with the power he wielded, the knowledge that Warrick would _always_ need him. 

He drove his cock into Warrick once, twice, and finally a third time before the spasming around his cock also sent him over the edge. “Warrick….” he sighed, whispering the word against Warrick’s lips.

~*~*~*~  
They were still plastered against the plate glass, panting heavily, bodies slick with sweat and semen, when a knock sounded at the door. Toreth groaned, but disentangled himself from Warrick, their skin separating with a slight ‘splat.’ 

Throwing on a shirt and trousers, Toreth looked back to see if Warrick had made it into the bathroom before admitting the group clustered outside. It appeared to be everyone who had interviewed Toreth the previous evening.

Toreth straightened. “What can I do for you?” he asked warily.

“Mr. Toreth,” a tall dark-skinned man began, “I’m not sure if you remember, but I’m Lieutenant Quentin Bradley, of the NYPD. This is my associate, Sergeant Sam Losquardo. And this last gentleman is Agent David Olson, with the Department of Homeland Security’s Office of Intelligence and Analysis.”

Toreth nodded at each as they were introduced.

“The reason that we’re here, Mr. Toreth, is that we have reason to believe Monroe Douglass is dead, not kidnapped as originally thought. We were hoping that you could remember more of your conversation.” 

Something tugged at Toreth’s memory, but it had nothing to do with the conversation. _What was it?_ He tried to hold the small niggling thread even as he reviewed aloud the conversation he’d overheard.

“Nedar?” Olson’s voice sharpened, interrupting Toreth’s rehashing of the little he’s heard. “Could that have been Nedahi?”

Toreth nodded. “Yeah, that sounds closer to what I heard.”

Olson and Bradley exchanged quick, worried glances. “Did you hear anything else? The first name? Could it have been Sayed Nedahi?”

“No,” Toreth shook his head. He was curious, but knew enough to realize that they wouldn’t tell him, a civilian witness, anything pertinent to the case. He actually preferred it that way, having no responsibility or investment in the outcome. He’d barely met Douglass, after all. The man flew in much higher circles than even Warrick, and was most certainly out of Toreth’s league.

Showing the troupe of law enforcement officers out of his hotel room, it suddenly occurred to Toreth what had been bothering him since the explosion. He could tell Olson and the others, but shrugged. He wasn’t a part of their team, let them figure it out themselves.  
~*~*~*~  
“You told her what?” Toreth thundered. 

Warrick’s eyes narrowed, but he held his ground. “I told Lucinda Cusick that you would work with her husband’s corporate security to find out what happened to Monroe. The police aren’t telling her anything, and they refuse to allow her security to work with them.”

Seeing Warrick’s stupidly noble expression, anger burned hotly in Toreth’s gut. “Warrick, this is supposed to be a vacation for me. Why should I muck about in an investigation where I’m not wanted? And why should I care that some corporate’s widow feels left out? The man is dead, does it matter how or why? Besides, I am pretty certain that interfering with a current investigation is against the law here. It is in _most_ countries. Are you _trying_ to get me incarcerated?”

Warrick took a step away, his back straight. “You can simply say no. There is no need for anger.” His voice had become cold, and he was over-articulating. He was angry himself, now. 

“Oh, and if I say no, will I hear the end of it?” Toreth asked, thinking, _Just like Warrick to fuck up a good time._

Though, in all honesty, he thought, the negotiations were a shambles with the release of the information that Douglass was dead. Perhaps Toreth _should_ share his information? He could tell the PharmCreate security detail, and let them run with it. They wouldn’t want him horning in on their work any more than the police. Then, he could relax for however long they’d stay in America before leaving this farce.

“OK, I’ll talk with them. Is Grace Tarrant out of hospital?”

“You will?” Warrick was taken aback. “Why?”

Toreth grinned. He loved being unpredictable. “Why not?”  
~*~*~*~  
“So, something went wrong with the kidnapping, maybe Douglass struggled or maybe one of them got over enthusiastic, and killed him. Perhaps they thought they were being discovered by hotel security, though we have no record of that actually happening, and to cover their escape, they detonated the explosion in the reception wing,” the tall, wiry man finished.

The man, Hank Baird, was one of a contingent flown from New London upon Douglass’s disappearance. Joining with those already in New York, they been efficiently scouring sources and sites, diplomatically staying out of the way of the local law enforcement officers. Toreth felt that they would probably solve the case long before the locals, but that could just be his belief in the superiority of Administration techniques and training.

Another member of the team, rather attractive young man blurted, “But would they have killed all of the delegates just to get away? Wasn’t that rather drastic? Who would hire them ever again, after such a botched, highly visible job? That was pretty stupid.”

Toreth smiled, then stopped, struck by the facts. “Actually, it wasn’t. First of all, there were _two_ explosions, weren’t there? The first was a small, localized one in an empty reception room. It set off the alarm, which provided the necessary distraction of the sab team to get away. The second explosion could have been a sympathetic one caused by fire reaching a storage room of something as innocuous as cooking oil. Or, it could have been pre-set, timed for after the hotel was totally evacuated. Or, just as easily, the detonation could have been handled by someone who was still on the scene, and watching for when the last people came out. We haven’t yet figured that out, have we?

“Second, we have to remember that we are not automatically dealing with professional sab teams. These could normally be government extraction units or even assassins. They may be uninterested in collateral damage, though I’m less inclined to believe that, having just realized the steps they took to allow everyone to evacuate. The only casualty was Grace Tarrant, who survived the explosion, but died later in hospital.” He turned to back to Baird. “But why Douglass?”

“Well, apparently, Mr. Douglass has been targeted as a part of a long series of counter operations between the American National Business Association and the Middle Eastern Association of Islamic Business Ventures, along with their governments. After the war, the governments of many of the Islamic countries, as well as United America, rebuilt along a theocratic structure. Their corporations, thus follow the strictures of their religions. More importantly, they continued the same animosity that had led them to war originally, just executed more covertly and under the guise of business practices, a sort of commercial cold war.”

Baird took a sip of coffee, and continued. “It would appear that agents of the AIBV had indeed kidnapped Douglass, but any sort of demands would have gone to the American government, not to PharmCreate or Lucinda Cusick. To avoid embarrassment over the failure of security or in fear of the possible collapse of the talks, the Americans would have the most to lose. Douglass was simply one of many high profile targets, but as a major proponent of the talks, his disappearance under suspicious circumstances would have the greatest negative affect.”

He put the coffee cup on the table with emphasis. “But regardless, we have to make sure we have overlooked nothing. Let’s get to work. Para-Investigator, thank you for your time. We’ll take care of everything from here out.”

Toreth smiled mildly. He didn’t take offense at the rather abrupt dismissal. He’d known, from the moment he’d stepped into the room, that the corporate security team was just listening to him as a courtesy to Cusick and Warrick. They didn’t think he had anything to add to their efficient, professional procedures. He sensed that on a certain level, they all felt that I&I investigations relied too heavily on the second ‘I’ and not enough on the first. He was sick of facing that attitude, and would do nothing to dispel it here, where he had no investment in the outcome. 

He also hadn’t shared his little snippet of information.  
~*~*~*~  
Toreth looked around the room, sipping coffee and whistling tunelessly. He was relaxed to the point of feeling almost boneless. After the breakdown of the negotiations, most of the delegates had left New York pretty quickly, though members of the security team investigating Douglass’s murder had been left in place. 

He and Warrick had decided to make a short but surprisingly fun trip to Niagara Falls, and they’d just gotten back to the hotel late last night. They had a flight back to Europe scheduled for rather early this morning, but not too early for some hot, quick overdue sex. Niagara Falls had been in the conservative part of the country, and same-sex expressions of affection were illegal. The bed was rumpled and messy, but they were both packed and ready to leave for the airport. 

Warrick was in the shower, and Toreth was seriously thinking about chucking his clothing and joining him, when someone knocked at the door. It was Grace Tarrant, who had supposedly died in hospital. Toreth look at her carefully. She was gorgeous for a dead woman, and had their trip gone otherwise, he probably would have pursued her actively.

“Good morning, Para-Investigator, my real name is Helene Reilly. May I have a few moments of your time?” She glanced at the luggage. “I promise this shouldn’t take long.”

“Sure, come in,” Toreth said affably. He lifted the coffee pot and raised an eyebrow inquiringly.

“Yes, please, I was released several hours ago, and I have been working ever since.” She smiled gratefully and took a drink from her cup.

“Working? I thought the security team has finished their investigations?” Toreth asked, not really caring, but deciding to make conversation.

“Oh, they have, though I believe their results have been inconclusive. No, I wasn’t involved with their inquiries.” She took a long look at Toreth, apparently making a decision. “I have a few more questions for you, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all,” Toreth said, becoming more curious.

“Before I begin, I would like to say that I have had a look at your security file, and I have noted numerous commendations of both your discernment and discretion.”

Rings of ice surrounded Toreth’s spine at the same time that blinding-hot anger roiled in his stomach. _What right had she to his security file? How dare she?_ Yet, the very fact that she was able to access it at all scared the hell out of him. _Who_ was she? 

He took the safest route, and said nothing, but waited. Reilly nodded, as if he’d just proven something to her, and smiled.

“I can see that they were justified. I will be brief. What I am about to tell you could put you in great danger if you cannot promise the utmost confidentiality. I am, however, willing to take the chance, as you could provide information quickly that I need to close my case files.”

Toreth thought quickly. She was obviously an agent of one of the Administration more covert divisions if she could fake her own death and then move about with a new identity. He had pretty successfully kept clear of contact with any Int-Sec or Ext-Sec operatives over the years, being justifiably terrified of attracting the attention of the wrong people. Still, with Warrick blundering about Douglass’s investigation intimating how ‘useful’ Toreth could be, he should have supposed people would begin to wonder. He sighed and took the plunge.

“Alright, I promise that nothing will go further than this room. And, who _hasn’t_ seen my security file?” he whined a bit, injecting a lighter tone in the room. Reilly smiled in response.

“The conversation that you overheard in the small reception room was between Douglass and who else?”

Toreth thought. “I’d always thought it was with members of his security team, since they were mentioning ‘future security’ and ‘who needed to know.’ I’d also caught a glimpse of you before I closed the door to the alcove, so I suppose I just assumed.”

She nodded. “As I’m sure you’ve probably begun to comprehend, I work for Civilian Surveillance. I’d been placed as a member of Douglass’s corporate security team years ago. He’d been under watch because of his religious sympathies. While he himself had never gotten into trouble, he’d associated with numerous people who were not quite so cautious and were unwittingly fruitful sources of intelligence.

“We had wondered if his religious inclinations had been a part of his sponsorship of the international corporate coalition, and so had a great deal of interest in the proceedings here. I knew that he’d had previous meetings in that reception room, and so had hidden in here before he and his party arrived. 

“As you’d noted, the conversation was innocuous. Basically, he was getting confirmation of increased security after a certain event took place, which we assumed was the talks discussing the international coalition. He also noted that he would be in a better position to negotiate with this Sayed Nedahi before the event, rather than after.

“It was at that point that I was discovered. I must have been injected with something, because while I could hear things, they were very confused, and sounded quite far away. I couldn’t see, nor could I move a muscle. Before you discovered me, I could hear them leaving the room, heard the woman kiss you goodbye and leave a while after, heard the explosion and the fire alarm, heard the blaze in the room, and the people passing with a few feet just past the door. I thought I was going to die in that room, burning alive, without even being able to scream. I thought you would pass right by me, just like the woman did.” She stopped and took another long drink of coffee.

Toreth sat back, flabbergasted. It sounded like she felt about fire the way he felt about water. The woman, normally so collected and dispassionate, was positively quaking and not ashamed to show it. He wondered if it ever affected her work. 

To cover the time while she pulled herself together, Toreth asked in a quiet, calm voice, “So, who do you think Douglass was meeting with? Members of the AIBV? They would still be the most logical individuals.”

Her smiled was strained as she nodded. “Probably. To not further complicate the negotiations, the sabs may have been careful to keep anyone else from harm, but they were planning on _my_ death. I recognize that this is just business as usual for all of us, but I can’t say I’m upset that Douglass is dead. I will be happy to close this case and move onto something new, but would like to hear any information that you might have.”

Toreth smiled, slowly and grimly. “Douglass is most likely _not_ dead.” 

“What?” she hissed, eyes narrowed.

“As I was trying to escape the room, I kept slipping on something on the carpet. I knew it wasn’t the flammatory agent, which I think had been applied pretty carefully on cushions and drapery, items that wouldn’t survive the conflagration. But when I looked closer, I saw the equivalent of two or three pints of blood, easily, maybe more. I also saw a sticky substance that had been sprayed liberally on the walls, furniture, and carpets. At first, I couldn’t figure out what it was. It was only later, after the authorities claimed that Douglass was dead, that I realized it was simply non-specific DNA suspended in a mucus gel. I’d seen something similar at a talk years ago.” He finished, a smug smile across his face as he judged the reaction to his revelation. There was a stunned silence.

Finally Reilly said, “So Douglass isn’t dead, as we have been led to believe. Not only that, but his disappearance was planned a long time in advance, as it would have to be rather difficult to get his DNA samples and blood.” She turned to Toreth. “In fact, they had to have been growing his DNA to get enough to survive the explosions and fire. He had to have been specifically targeted.”

He was really beginning to like her. Her mind operated like his and it was nice to see someone catch things so quickly.

He nodded. “My guess was that even if he couldn’t be used as a bargaining chip with the Americans, they could always use his knowledge as the founder of PharmCreate in their corporations in the Middle East.”

“But how could they get that information? I’m sure he wouldn’t just offer—” She stopped when she saw his smile.

“You have to remember that my job is to get any information, no matter how detailed, scientific, or obscure. If they want it, and he has it, they will get it.”

Reilly snorted, rather unladylike. “Well, I hope he resists for a while, after leaving me to burn to death in a pool of his blood. And I hope the information extraction is most painful.”

Toreth laughed. “If I’ve answered all of your questions, might I suggest you consider getting out of here? There is someone who should be coming out of the bathroom soon, and if we hurry, we might get one more shag in before we have to leave for our flight.”

She laughed, and said, “I will probably not see you again, Para-Investigator. In our lines of work, we’d probably both prefer that. But if I do, I will look forward to working with you.” She drained her cup and stood.

“I agree,” Toreth said, grinning as he ushered her out.

Still grinning, he turned to the bathroom, and said softly, “I suppose it was too much to ask that you didn’t eavesdrop?”

Warrick came out, nude, with a towel wrapped low around his hips. “Sorry,” he said, though he didn’t sound very sorry.

Toreth sighed. “I hope I don’t have to—”

“Tell me how dangerous it is that even you have this information, and I shouldn’t have compounded it by listening in? Yes, I know,” Warrick murmured, dropping the towel. “I’ve been a really bad boy. What can I do to make it up to you?”

Toreth’s grin grew wider. “We have about an hour to find out,” he said, tossing Warrick lightly onto the bed. 

All thoughts of leggy blondes flew out of his head. Warrick was familiar, yet exciting. He was known, yet continually fresh and new. He was uncharted territories, but always like coming home.  
~*~*~*~  
Bill Magee, formerly known as Monroe Douglass, leaned back in his chair, and looked out the window at his farm. It was just March, and he could see fat flakes of snow drifting down, though it would be too warm for them to build up on the ground. He heaved a sigh of satisfaction. This little homestead, fifteen miles outside Spokane, Washington was all his. He was finally home.

He’d only been a high-school student taking a summer in a retreat center in Athens when he’d met someone from the American Church of the Savior. He’d corresponded through secret contacts for years, growing in the knowledge of Christ’s sacrifice for his people and what they could do to follow in his path. During college, he was recruited by their government to pass on information about his godless fellow students and their activities against the government. It had been satisfying, knowing that he was doing the Lord’s work. 

The negotiations with Sayed Nedahi of the AIBV were going well. They were still heathen, not understanding that they had to accept Christ as their Savior for salvation, but at least they understood faith and spirituality. While the faiths had many differences, the government of United America had finally begun to realize the many things they had in common with the Arab League of Nations.

The undercover, work, however was done. In his mind, it had been worth every minute, every year, every decade. Even when it had been difficult, he knew he was involved in a higher cause. Even when he’d been convinced to marry Lucinda, work his way up in her father’s corporation, and even father two children with her, he was strong in his faith. He’d begun to falter when he realized, to his dismay, that he couldn’t raise his children in the love of the Lord, but he kept reminding himself that they were a part of the soulless European dictatorship. While he would regret their lack of exposure to God’s grace, he would continue to pray for them. Who knows, if his efforts paid off as they were sure to do, little Anne and Joseph might eventually come home to him here in America.

_The End  
_


End file.
